


Reason, Not Speculation

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Manhattan tells Nelson about his death in the hopes that he can change his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reason, Not Speculation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this story, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

The last of the masks have gone, leaving only the scent of leather and smoke, and one burned map of America, to show that they'd ever been there at all. It had been kind of Ozymandias to stay behind and chat about the possibility of trying this again in a few months, but as the young blond carefully closes the door behind him, Nelson feels no better. He's not sure he can keep this up anymore, and the tightness of his old costume around his belly is just one more reminder of why. He's too old to keep up with these beautiful young people, too old to keep up with comedians armed to the teeth. And Doctor Manhattan... well, he changed everything.

"We've been replaced," he recalls Hollis saying. Hollis doesn't know how lucky he is, to be happily retired and not living by himself, even if it is just a dog.

Nelson sighs and weighs the pros and cons of companionship with hair on the furniture as he digs around in a cabinet for the decanter of brandy he's tucked away. He's only just removed the glass stopper and begun to pour himself a large drink when a flash of blue-white light fills the room like lightning.

Half of the brandy ends up on Nelson's costume.

"Manhattan!" he says shakily, then clears his throat and tries not to sound like such an idiot. "What can I do for you?" He wonders if Manhattan can read his mind, if he heard him thinking about replacement. He wonders if Manhattan has come to kill him.

"You can listen, Nelson Gardner," Manhattan says, his voice calm, without inflection, infinitely patient. It's like what Nelson imagines the voice of God to be without the divine fire and righteous anger. In short, it's like nothing he ever expected to hear either living or dead. "It has occurred to me that I can help you."

Nelson swallows. "I appreciate that, but the Crimebusters just aren't going to work. I see that now."

"Do you?" Manhattan gazes at him serenely with the bright white where his eyes ought to be. "From what I have seen in the future, this will destroy you."

"You can see the future?" Nelson gapes. 

"I perceive my own past, present, and future simultaneously," explains Manhattan. "So to your understanding, yes, I can see my own future exactly as it will be. The futures of those around me are not always clear. But, through logic and reasoning, I can use my knowledge of future interactions with others to piece together a possibility of how their lives will play out."

"Gosh." Nelson has never been much for the abstract, but as a strategist he can see how putting those pieces together might work.

"You will die in a car crash in 1974. A single vehicle accident."

Nelson has no words to respond.

"That is as certain and unchangeable as our conversation right now. I and other masks will pay our respects at a small memorial service. However, the reason you will be driving so fast in such poor weather will never be determined." Manhattan pauses, clearly waiting for a response or reaction beyond stunned silence. When he fails to receive one, he continues blithely. "Between now and your death, you will remain active as a costumed hero. My interactions with you on the job will become less frequent over time, and by the time I will be called away to serve overseas, it is my understanding that you will have retired for good." 

He stops speaking again, and Nelson feels compelled to fill the silence. "Well, er, I suppose everyone has to go sometime." He tries to sound calm, but his heart is starting to pound.

"Yes," Manhattan says. "From my reasoning, I have gleaned the following about your personal life between now and your death: you will never fully accept that your former lover Hooded Justice is dead, though you will believe yourself to have moved on. You will never find another long-term companion, and your romantic endeavors will be few and far between. Your retirement will be lonely and quiet. You will spend your days attempting to recapture your youth with memories of glory days, for you will be unable to accept the changing world around you."

Nelson's head is reeling, and he's starting to get angry. "How could you possibly know any of this? Why are you doing this?" he demands.

"I have already told you, aside from the concrete facts of the date and cause of your death, and my limited interactions with you in the future, this is what I have reasoned to be true."

"So it's speculation," he argues. Manhattan doesn't know him. His life isn't over yet.

"No, Gardner," Manhattan says, and though his voice gets no louder it seems much sterner. "If you continue to live the way you have lived the whole of your life, then this is the inevitable course it will take. But you have the ability to change the course by changing yourself."

Nelson sags down into a chair and massages his temples. "Why are you telling me this? Have you forgotten how people work? We don't _want_ to know this sort of thing. We have to have some kind of hope for the future."

"When I began this exercise of using logic to determine the futures of those around me, it was purely a stimulating game. I came to realize that for all the hopes these people have, their lives will never be what they had expected." Manhattan pauses thoughtfully. "I was once Jon Osterman, and I remember his hopes and dreams. He could not have known what was going to happen to him, and now those dreams will never be achieved. I thought that if I told others of the things that will happen to them, then they could shape their lives to better fit their wishes."

"So... you're telling everyone about their futures? Their _deaths_?" 

"No, not all. Some of their lives are too closely intertwined with my own, and their futures will play out exactly as I see them. The futures of some are... clouded," he says, a flicker of uncertainty going through his eyes for the first time tonight. "I cannot tell to what ends their lives will take them. You, however, fell into the middle, and those in that position stand to gain the most from my advice."

Nelson nods slowly. His mind feels saturated with new information, like a sponge so full of water that merely touching it will make it leak. And with all this talk of death, he doesn't want to think about his brain leaking. He tries not to make any sudden movements. 

"If you have no further questions for me, I will go," says Manhattan. "No doubt you have a lot to think about." 

Several seconds pass. "I don't know how to change," Nelson says softly.

"If you truly want to, you will find a way." Lightning strikes again, and again Nelson finds himself in an empty room, the lingering scent this time that of ozone.

~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Nelson wakes up, does his morning exercises, and then goes out and buys a dog. He takes it home and lets it sit on the couch with him while he reads the paper and scratches it behind its floppy, furry ears. It's not a big change, but it's a start.

~*~*~*~*~  
**Or, if you want to be depressed, replace the last paragraph with this:**

The years have passed, and Nelson thinks of that night back in '66 only when he gets depressed. That seems to be more and more frequently these days, but he's in his sixties now and he figures it's normal to dwell on the past at that age. Sally understands, they've spoken about it before, how the past always seems brighter and the future darker. He wishes she didn't live so far away.

The phone call from Byron's personal nurse comes from out of the blue around seven o'clock one October night, 1974. "Pardon the disturbance, Mr. Gardner. Mr. Lewis isn't doing well," she says in a hushed tone reserved for speaking about the dying. "We don't know how much time he has, it's so hard to say with him. He told us he wants to see his old friends, and yours is one of the names he gave us. Please consider coming, sir, you know he has no family."

It's a very easy decision. He packs a small bag and includes his old costume and some photos among his possessions, thinking Byron might like to see them. He has the address and directions scribbled down on a piece of paper in his hand. As Nelson jogs out to his car, he's pelted by rain, and lightning cracks through the sky.

There was lightning in Nelson's house once, in '66. He remembers. 1974, single car accident, poor weather. 

He can't let himself be afraid, not when a friend needs him. Nelson turns the key in the ignition and drives.


End file.
